


La mélodie de Paris

by orphan_account



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, Sexy Zone
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 15:06:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2585867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Kento loses his voice, Fuma decides that they need to get away for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La mélodie de Paris

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1789R](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1789R/gifts), [(thanks for all your help hun)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=%28thanks+for+all+your+help+hun%29).



> Hey everyone! So, this fic escalated a little, length-wise ^^' It was a lot of fun to write, and Nada was as nice to feed me with tourist information about Paris, so it kept growing and growing.
> 
> Sadly, I have never been to Paris, and gladly, I have never experienced psychosomatic voice loss, nor do I know anyone who has, so if there are any unrealistic sides to this fic, please forgive me. Also, I know that the end might be more wishful thinking than anything else, but please bare with it for the fic ;)
> 
> I hope you'll like it. (Warning: I will not be held responsible for deep urges to travel to the french capital after reading this fic)

Kento’s POV

Thinking back now, it seemed like it had all happened in some kind of blur, like I was trying to grasp the flashbacks of a very bad dream instead of real experiences that I had gone through merely a few hours ago. 

I knew that the manager had talked to me a few minutes before I had gone on stage, something about schedules and activities to take on as soon as Johnnys World was over, but I could not really remember any details now. 

Then I had gotten ready and gone out on stage, trying to concentrate on the last performance of this sequence… when suddenly, my voice had vanished. 

I had not been sick, and even though my throat had been sore every now and then over the past month, it had not been a problem on that particular day. I had been exhausted, yes, but apart from that, I had felt fine. 

Only that now I found myself on stage, opening my mouth to sing, and no sound came out. I was pretty sure I had had nightmares like these before, but I had never ever expected them to become reality.

I had felt everyone’s gazes on me, searingly hot as I had stood there, unsure what was even happening. I could remember Shori’s questioning gaze, and Kawai pushing me off the stage with gentle force. 

Staff was asking me what was wrong, and I tried to answer, but I couldn’t make words happen. No matter how hard I tried to speak, my voice wouldn’t cooperate, and I had never felt as helpless as in that moment, unable to perform, and unable to articulate why. Not that I had understood why, anyways. I had had no clue what was even going on.

Marius had kept throwing questions at me which I couldn’t answer because I couldn’t _talk,_ which he, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be able to understand, and then a staff member had led me away and taken me to the hospital. 

I had spent hours being examined, with the final conclusion that physically, I was perfectly healthy. There was technically no reason for me to be unable to talk, and yet, here I was, not managing to produce even a single sound. 

“There are cases of psychosomatic voice loss” the doctor had explained. “The causes can be psychological conflicts, traumatas, suppressed emotions or stress situations. It can be accompanied by dry coughing, hardened muscles especially in the shoulder and neck area, and strong headaches.”

I had had headaches, but I had not taken them seriously. I had stayed up late after work to study for exams, after all. Headaches and exhaustion had been a logical consequence, but none I was not used to. 

The rest of the day had been even more blurry. I had been forced to let the management explain the situation to my parents, and the hour that followed my arrival at home had been _horrible_ because my mother had been in tears and had kept telling me that I was pushing myself too hard and had tried to convince me to step back on work, a discussion that was really not fair in a moment when I was unable to even articulate myself. 

In the end I had angrily written down on a piece of paper that I couldn’t work without a voice anyways and that I hoped that she was happy now before dashing off into my room, locking myself away for the rest of the night and crying. 

Now, hours later, I was still sitting on the floor of my room, back leaned against the closed door and face pressed against my knees as I tried to understand why this was happening to me. There were little things that would have a bigger impact on my life than the loss of my voice. My whole career as an idol depended on the use of my voice, both musically and for entertainment purposes. If I were unable to speak or sing, I was of no use to the band or the agency. 

The doctor had ensured me that it was no permanent kind of damage, that it was usually a temporary phenomenon that would disappear as soon as the cause was eliminated. That once the psychological issue that was blocking my voice was solved, I would be able to speak again. 

But what did “temporary” mean, really? A couple of days? Weeks? Months? Maybe years? I did not have that kind of time. Only dropping out of the musical today had caused countless of problems to the people around me, so much that I didn’t even dare checking my phone because of all the messages I was going to have to read from my band mates, the cast members, _everyone_. 

I started when there was a soft knock on my door, but instead of reacting to it, I just pressed my face further into my knees, hugging my legs close to my body and making myself as small as physically possible, as if I could disappear if I tried to crawl in on myself just a little more. I knew that my parents were worried and that my earlier words had been that tiny bit irrational, but I was not ready to face them yet. 

“Kento?” I could hear a familiar muffled voice from the other side of the door, surprisingly not belonging to my mother or my father, but to none other than Fuma. “Kento, please open the door.”

I didn’t move for another five seconds or so before finally raising my head and wiping at my face helplessly. I knew that I could not hide my tears though, not from Fuma of all people, so I quickly gave up and crawled a little away from the door, unlocking it. 

Fuma opened the door slowly, peaking inside carefully, his eyes immediately zooming in on my crouched figure on the floor. With a deep sigh, he slipped inside, closing the door behind himself and dropping his bag on the floor and himself right in front of me. 

“Always making me worry, you moron” he said softly, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he patted my head like I was a five-year-old rather than a year older than him. Strangely enough, it only brought more tears to my eyes, and Fuma’s answer to that was to simply pull me into a tight hug and stroke my hair as I silently cried into his shoulder. 

Fuma had always given the best hugs, bear hugs that enveloped you and made you feel sheltered from the outside world. It had been a while since I had been hugged like this by him, had been a while since I had admitted to myself that I needed it, so the emotions crushing down on me at the gesture were even more overwhelming. 

Fuma did not speak, and for once, this silence was exactly what I needed.

***

When I woke again the next morning, I found myself in my bed, my face pressed against Fuma’s chest. I only belatedly noticed that he was fumbling with something behind my back, killing a sound I hadn’t been aware of until it disappeared.

“Sorry” Fuma murmured, his voice thick from sleepiness as he stretched. “I have an exam in three hours, so I needed to set an alarm. Can I use your bathroom?”

I was going to tell him that it was fine, and only realized that I couldn’t when I tried to bring out the words. Resigned, I let my mouth fall closed again and nodded, and Fuma stroked his fingers through my hair once in what was probably supposed to be a reassuring gesture before getting up. 

I kept my eyes firmly closed until I heard him shut the door behind himself, burying myself under the covers to hide from the world. I didn’t even move when the door opened again about half an hour later, wondering if I could get away with pretending to have gone back to sleep, but then Fuma sat down on the side of my bed and I gave in, rolling onto my back and blinking at him.

Fuma had a soft smile on his lips and was poking me into the sides until I squirmed.

“This is gonna be my last exam today” he announced. “And seeing as we won’t be picking up any group activities at least for a week or two, do you want to go somewhere together?”

I stared at him in surprise, causing Fuma to poke me some more until I retaliated by kicking his hip, making him snort.

“You deserve a break after all the musical stress, and I deserve a break after my exam” Fuma shrugged, as if it was the most natural thing and as if it had nothing to do with my sudden muteness. “Plus we haven’t really spent any time together for a while, so let’s make a small trip.”

When I still didn’t look all too convinced, he added: “I am serious, Nakajima. I think it would do you good to get away for awhile. Let’s go somewhere where no one can make any demands on us, where we can just relax and be ourselves. Maybe your voice will come back like that, too. So please?”

I looked at Fuma contemplatively. His proposal sounded nice, actually, and it was not like I could really do anything with myself without a voice anyways. I would probably sit at home and get into more fights with my parents, and that was the last thing I wanted. 

So I nodded tentatively and Fuma smiled, obviously satisfied as he got to his feet.

“Okay, I have to go now” he announced. “You can use the time to think of destination for us and book flight and accommodation. Surprise me, I don’t care where we go. I have saved up a little, so you can go all out without worrying. Only keep our hotel under 5 stars, please.”

I stuck out my tongue at him as he turned to wave at me from the door. 

“I will call - I mean I will message you when I am home” he corrected hastily. “So don’t you dare lying depressively in bed all day. I want a traveling schedule by tonight.”

I only rolled my eyes, though I knew it was exactly what I would have done hadn’t he pointed it out, and Fuma grinned as he finally left my room.

I still didn’t really make it out of bed, but I at least made the way to the bathroom once and grabbed my laptop on the way back, browsing the internet to look at last minute flights. 

Soon, a cheap flight to Paris caught my eye, and with some research it wasn’t hard to find reasonably-priced accommodation, either. 

I still didn’t dare to book on my own, instead sending Fuma a mail with the link to flights and hotel, asking for his opinion. Fuma’s only answer was a thumbs up emoticon and asking how much money I would get from him, and just like that, our trip to Paris was settled. 

I explained our plans to my parents through a note, and though they didn’t seem too thrilled they just nodded it off, and my mother silently put out some things for me to pack. 

Our flight went the next day at 1pm, so Fuma and I met about two hours earlier at Haneda airport to have enough time both to check in and have some lunch together. It was uncomfortable for me to have to rely on Fuma for every little interaction, no matter if it came to checking in my luggage or simply ordering food, and I was already regretting having agreed to this when Fuma dropped a sandwich into my lap and plopped down onto the seat next to me. 

“You look worried again” he noted, bumping my shoulder. 

I shrugged, silently opening the wrapping and taking a bite, and Fuma sighed.

“Listen, even if you can’t speak, I know exactly what you are thinking anyways. We have been together for almost 7 years, and you are like an open book to me. So if you are making that face, it’s really bothering me.” I carefully chewed without glancing up at him, and Fuma slumped a little in his seat as he continued, very quietly: “When I asked you to go on a trip with me, I wanted you to enjoy it, because seriously, it’s been a while since I saw you enjoying something from the bottom of your heart. You have been all about work in the last couple of months, and we both know how crazy work has been. You need to do something for yourself for once, and i am not going to leave you in peace until you can laugh again and mean it. Okay?” 

I finally looked up to meet Fuma’s gaze, and the emotions in his eyes were so intense and overwhelming that it struck me a little. It’s been a while since Fuma had _really_ looked at me. I had almost forgotten the feelings it always evoked. 

I didn’t even dare to breathe until Fuma moved, grabbing his bag and rummaging through it. My eyes followed him until he brought out a tiny notepad and a ballpen, handing it over to me. 

“We can communicate like that” Fuma noted. “If you want to tell me something, just write it down.”

I stared at the objects in Fuma’s hands for a moment before taking them tentatively. Fuma looked at me expectantly, and I clicked the ballpen once to scribble something down. 

_I am sorry for worrying you_

When I held the note up, Fuma just rolled his eyes and smacked my head lightly.

“I told you to stop worrying, you moron” he complained. 

I held in for a moment, staring at the notepad, before writing the next message.

_Are you sure this trip is a good idea? You need to help me with everything, since I am unable to make myself understood. I am going to be a burden to you._

Fuma was already shaking his head before I had finished writing the sentence, glancing over my shoulder and protesting: “I don’t care about that, Kento. Why is it so hard for you to let me do things for you?!”

_You are no better. You hate being coddled way more than me_ , I wrote. 

“Yeah, but you usually _enjoy_ being spoiled. So let me, will you?!” he demanded. 

I sighed, shrugging in a gesture of defeat, and Fuma snorted.

“I will make you enjoy yourself, Nakajima” he threatened playfully. “If you want to or not!”

I had to smile a little at that, and Fuma seemed satisfied enough, finally returning his attention to his lunch. 

***

It seemed like Fuma hadn’t been kidding when he had said that he wanted to spend time with me. During the entire flight, he engaged me into activities, from suggesting to watch a movie on his tablet to just listening to music together. It was unusual for him, to say the least, because Fuma was always the first one to nap away on a plane, but even if I didn’t let it on, I was a tiny bit thankful for his attention. It kept me busy and gave me less time to think. Being like this with Fuma was easy and natural, not requiring too much concentration or effort. 

Another thing I noticed was that Fuma was touching me more than usual, simple gestures like a brush of hands creating an intimacy that I had been missing from him for a long long time. Maybe it felt that way because of him not having participated in Johnny’s World, but somehow, it seemed like ages since I had been this close to Fuma, so his proximity felt so good that it was almost healing. 

The flight went by ridiculously fast like this, and we found ourself at Paris-Charles-de-Gaulle before I even realized. I was glad that Fuma seemed to have everything coordinated, leading me from passport control to currency exchange to the train that would bring us to our hotel, requiring for me to do nothing more than tag along as my tired mind became progressively overwhelmed by the foreign culture around me. 

It was already dark when we arrived at our hotel, making it seem like the dead of the night to me even though it was just around dinner time. It was a small hotel somewhere in the center of the city, and thankfully, with the little amount of English both the staff and Fuma were speaking, we made it through the check in and into our room.

I barely managed kicking off my shoes and carrying my luggage across the room instead of just dropping it in the entrance way before throwing myself onto the bed, refusing to move again for the rest of the night. 

Fuma took one look at me and snorted, throwing his pillow after me and missing. 

“You are not allowed to sleep yet” he informed me. “I am hungry, I want dinner.”

I opened my mouth to remind him that this whole trip was supposed to have the aim to help me relax which in my book included sleeping when I fucking wanted to, but the words didn’t come out when I tried to speak, and it frustrated me so much that I actually opened my eyes.

Fuma had made his way across the room to fetch his pillow from behind my bed and smacked me in the head with it once, making me glare at him.

“I don’t care if it’s freaking McDonalds” he glared. “I want food. And you won’t let walk out of this hotel alone.”

In the end, he bullied me into getting up and leaving the room, and after a five minute walk we actually found a McDonalds, with which Fuma seemed more than satisfied because it supposedly demanded less concentration than other restaurants’ menus. And though we stood at the entrance for about five minutes trying to figure out how the system with sets worked here in France, the names were basically similar to what we were used to, and Fuma managed to order with some hand gestures and English snippets. 

I wasn’t really able to eat much, never having much appetite after long flights, but Fuma had no trouble eliminating my left overs and even getting himself an ice cream as dessert when he was done with those, while I had to use all my concentration to not nap away on the table. 

When we were finally back to the hotel room, it was barely past eight, and I was able to keep myself awake just long enough for Fuma to disappear in the bathroom before I was dead to the world. 

***

I woke up at the sound of Fuma’s alarm, feeling entirely jet lagged and not at all ready to face the day, and though Fuma seemed to generally share the sentiment he sleepily demanded me to get up and under the shower so we could catch breakfast, and when I didn’t react, he actually rolled out of bed to steal my blanket and make me retaliate. 

After actually leaving the bed, though, I quickly found my stomach growling for food, so I was pleased at the prospect of french hotel breakfast and coffee. Fuma brought a tourist guide to the table, which he had apparently picked up on the way home from university after reading my mail, as he explained at my confused expression.

“So, where do you want to go?” he asked conversationally, biting into his croissant and looking at me expectantly. 

I blinked at him cluelessly, finally forming some tiny triangle-like thing with my fingers, and Fuma chuckled, rolling his eyes.

“Of course we will go to the Eiffel Tower, that’s a given” he nodded. “But where else? Have you thought about anything?”

I just shrugged, and Fuma teased me for being the most unprepared traveler in history. 

“How about the Louvre for today?” Fuma finally suggested, opening a map in his tourist guide and pointing it out to me. “It’s not too far from the hotel, and there is the Mona Lisa and stuff. Then we can go up that street, I heard there was some little Japanese corner with restaurants and a bakery-” he cut himself off when he saw me raising my eyebrows, and he rolled his eyes, adding: “Yes, yes, I know, I am all about food, don’t pretend that you aren’t!! So after getting some lunch, we can walk over there to the Opera, and a little farther there are the Galeries Lafayette, where we could go shopping. Does that sound like a plan?”

I pursed my lips and nodded, and Fuma seemed satisfied with that, putting the tourist guide down and scanning the buffet for more food. 

Sightseeing with Fuma was so diverting that I couldn’t help but enjoy myself. Fuma had always had a talent for making me laugh, and he understood me so well that I didn’t even need the notepad stuffed away in my pocket to communicate with him. 

I had feared that it would be awkward with me not being able to talk to him, but Fuma just talked enough for the both of us instead, and the few silences we had were comfortable ones. 

The Louvre was interesting at the beginning but turned slightly draining after a while, with both of us not _that_ interested in art, so we didn’t spend as much time in there as we probably should have. 

We did go for the Japanese shops for lunch, and even though I would have poked fun at Fuma for searching the Japanese food while we were in a culinary country like France, I could understand why he was shying away from going for french restaurants. The language seemed confusing and scary, and I still felt a little bad for not being able to help him out with the communication. 

After we were stuffed with Okonomiyaki and we had grabbed some sweets from the bakery in front of the restaurant, we kept strolling back onto the main street, and into the direction of the opera. 

I was so distracted by the architecture of the city and everything that was happening around us that I didn’t even really notice when Fuma’s babbling about the Opera ceased, and when I turned to face him, I found myself alone. 

I stood there stupidly for a moment, craning my neck to find Fuma in the masses, until someone bumped into me and I quickly backed out of the way and towards a corner of the sidewalk, scrambling for orientation. 

Fuma was nowhere to be seen, though, and panic rose inside of me as I tried to understand how I could have possibly lost him. I was no child, after all, only maybe, without a voice to draw attention to myself, I kind of resembled one. I considered my options. I was pretty much lost in this city without Fuma, I realized: He had the map as well as the better sense for orientation, and even disregarding the language barrier I could hardly go and ask anyone for directions. I had long since lost track of the way back, even before we had gotten to the Louvre, and our phones didn’t work here in France. 

Tentatively, I started walking again, making my way further down the street, remembering how Fuma had mumbled something about just following the main road. Maybe I would be able to meet him near the Opera, since that had been our destination in the first place. 

It didn’t take more than a couple of minutes to reach the Opera, but as much as I kept strolling around the area, I could not catch sight of Fuma, and it was beginning to really freak me out. 

In the end, I settled for sitting down on the stairs in front of the building, set on waiting there until Fuma would finally turn up, and I had never felt more like a 5-year-old that had lost his mother in the department store. 

Sitting on the cold stone floor, though, I began to freeze immensely. I had not noticed it that much while walking, but Paris weather actually felt lots colder than Tokyo weather, and since it was late January, it was practically in the middle of winter, too, and I had packed neither gloves nor bonnet or anything. 

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty, all without a sight of Fuma. My fingers had started trembling and I was starting to really wonder how I would find my way back to the hotel without Fuma when finally, I heard a familiar voice calling my name. 

“ _Kento!_ ”

I craned my neck and found Fuma hurrying up the stairs to where I was sitting, face flushed and slightly out of breath.

“Where were you?!” he demanded when he reached me, holding onto the belt of my cloak pointedly as I got to my feet. “I ran up and down the street 3 times! I was scared out of my mind, damnit!”

I made a few angry gestures which meant as much as ‘ _You were the one who disappeared on me’_ and _‘I have been waiting here for an eternity_ ’, but my sternness was interrupted by a violent shudder, and Fuma looked at me worriedly.

“You are freezing” he noted, and I shrugged, burying my hands into my pockets as deeply as they would go. “We should go get something hot to drink. I saw a Starbucks just around the corner. Come on.”

He reached for my arm pointedly, startling me a little, but his hand was warm when it slid against mine, maybe because he had been running, and it felt really nice. Fuma did not let go of my hand as he led the way, maybe afraid to lose me again if he didn’t hold onto me physically, but no matter his reasons, I appreciated the contact more than I probably should. 

The Starbucks was really literally just around the corner and into a side street, and the shop looked normal enough from the outside, wooden facade and Starbucks sign, but as we stepped aside, both of us froze and stared in awe. 

The inside looked breathtakingly beautiful, probably remodeled to resemble the insides of the opera, with chandeliers hanging from the high, artfully decorated ceiling. The shop was spacey, the room broken by arcs and pillars, though huge mirrors deepened it optically. 

I was still admiring it almost in a daze when Fuma murmured, his tone slightly teasing: “Well, haven’t we found your favorite place in whole Paris.”

I had to grin sheepishly at that, and Fuma chuckled as he let go of my hand, looking towards the counter tentatively. 

“What do you want?” he asked distractedly. “You should have something to warm you up, since you waited out in the col - _Are those pancakes?!_ ”

It _were_ pancakes, which probably made it Fuma’s favorite place in all Paris, too, and we found a quiet table with my cappuccino, his latte macchiato, pancakes and an apple pie, warming ourselves up a little and soaking in the atmosphere. 

“It’s nice to see you smiling again” Fuma noted after a while, and I blinked at him in surprise, not even having realized that he was watching me until he spoke up. “It’s been a while.”

I frowned, wanting to argue because I had always made an effort to smile, but Fuma shook his head even before I could think the thought towards an end, continuing: “I don’t mean your idol smiles, and the side you show the public. I mean the real Kento, the one you are when all cameras are turned off and no one is watching you. Whenever I saw a glimpse of _him_ , it was weariness and exhaustion. So I am glad to see you enjoying yourself.”

I bit my lip, not knowing what to answer even if I could have spoken, but Fuma wasn’t done, not seeming to care that he was basically holding a monologue for me. It seemed to play into his hands, even, like my silence finally allowed him to say things he hadn’t been able to voice before. 

“I know things are tough at the moment” he said softly, gaze focused on his cup rather than me. “For all of us, and no matter how much you try to act like everything is fine, I can see that you are unhappy. I have known you for too long. I just wished you’d lean on me more.”

His words sank in slowly, and as they did, a blinding headache shot through me. I gasped, moving my hand up to cover my forehead, making Fuma’s attention immediately turn to me.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, his hand twitching as if he wanted to reach out but decided against it in the next moment, frowning. “Your head?”

I nodded slightly, closing my eyes, trying to will the sudden, sickening pain away. 

Fuma was silent for a moment, before murmuring, very softly: “The Galeries Lafayette are a department store. Maybe we can get you some gloves or clothes to keep you warm there. And souvenirs for the other members.”

I frowned at the sudden change of topic, but Fuma continued babbling about what to get Sou, Shori and Marius, and slowly, my headache started to fade. 

***

We did spend the rest of the day shopping, but mostly for ourselves than for anyone else because the prices were ridiculously high. We picked up the habit of searching stuff for each other after a while, trying to make the other buy them. It worked to a certain degree because Fuma found me a scarf and new jeans and I found him a jacket which was actually more expensive than both of my items combined and made him flinch at the price, but he ended up buying it anyways because it clung really nicely to his figure. 

We got separated at the cashier, and I was worried about that for a moment but the staff didn’t really need my input, so I wasn’t required to speak as I paid. 

When Fuma caught up with me again he was strangely nervous, fumbling with his bag and biting his lip.

“Give me your hand” he demanded.

I frowned, stretching out my free, left palm in confusion. Fuma quickly drew something out of the plastic bag and dropped it into my hand, prying my fingers closed around a small, metallic object.

“For you” he said hastily before turning around and starting to walk. I looked after him in confusion before dropping my gaze and opening my hand, my gaze widening. 

A simple dark silver ring lay in my palm, the band thick and delicate adorned with a tiny, delicate design in the middle of it. My gaze flickered to his left hand, quickly finding the same ring on his ring finger, and I stared at it as if in trance.

“Come on, Nakajima” Fuma called, his voice almost whiny in obvious embarrassment as he looked back at me. “I am not going to run through the whole store to search you if I lose you again!”

I nodded slowly, my hand closing around the ring again as I made my feet move to catch up with him. Fuma pointedly looked elsewhere as I fastened my bag around my wrist to be able to slip the ring onto my left ring finger, turning my hand so that the light caught on the metal. It was really nice, fitting both of our tastes, but above all, I could tell that it probably hadn’t been cheap, a given in this store, but also easy to tell by the way the ring was fabricated. The thought made my chest tighten in emotions. 

Fuma started a little when my fingers brushed his, and he looked up questioningly to catch my gaze. _Thank you_ , I mouthed, and the corners of Fuma’s lips twitched in response, but he just shook his head, shrugging it off.

I couldn’t remember having felt this treasured by anyone in a long, long time, and getting this kind of attention from Fuma of all people did weird things to my heart. 

***

We spent the rest of the night browsing through the Lafayette Gourmet section, and if we hadn’t been aware that we somehow needed to bring the ingredients safely back to Japan at the end of our trip, we might have ended up spending all of our money. 

As it was, Fuma just bought a few spices for his mother, and we had dinner at Bistrot Paulette, a little aisle in the middle of other gourmet corners that served snacks like french bacon and quiches which we shared, and I ordered a glass of red wine which I let Fuma nip on (totally legal in France, by the way, with a legal drinking age of eighteen, as Fuma smugly reminded me). 

We made our way back home, then, and Fuma disappeared straight under the hot shower, complaining about the cold weather loudly as he went. 

I was kind of thankful that he was gone for a few minutes because it gave me time to collect myself, sort through my luggage and finally sit down on the bed and tentatively reach for the notepad I had dropped onto the bedside table. 

I stared at it for a moment, knowing that I wanted to properly thank Fuma for all the effort he was putting into this, putting into _me_ on this trip, and seeing that I was unable to actually say the words, writing was the only way. 

_Fuma,_ I wrote. _I haven’t really thanked you yet for practically kidnapping me and bringing me here, but I am really enjoying myself. You were right, it’s been a while since I have been able to think about things that are not related to work or university, and it’s quite refreshing. Also, it’s been ages since we really did something together as just the two of us, and more than anything else, I missed being with you. And thank you for the ring, it means a lot to me._

I managed to place the notepad on Fuma’s pillow just before he opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom, so I hastily grabbed my things and fled the room, rather not wanting to be around when he read it. 

When I carefully stepped out of the bathroom again half an hour later, Fuma was pointedly not looking up at me as he scrolled through his phone, but the notepad was back on the bedside table between our beds, the note having mysteriously disappeared. 

“The kids are saying hello” Fuma informed me, breaking my streak of thoughts. “They keep messaging me and asking if you are okay. I told them that you are perfectly able to answer text messages so they can ask you themselves, but somehow they ignore my input.”

Even if they had written to me, I wouldn’t have known because I hadn’t picked up my phone once since we arrived here, but I saw no need to inform Fuma of this. The prospect of the messages I might have to read when I turned it on, possibly from management or parents, scared me enough to keep it safely stuffed in my bag, not to be looked at until I absolutely had to. 

Fuma was watching me though, reading my face as easily as he always did, and finally enquiring casually: “Did you inform your parents that we arrived safely?” I ignored the question, and Fuma sighed. “They will be worried, Nakajima” he scolded, and when I still didn’t react, he asked quietly: “Did you have a fight or something? I thought something was off when I came over that night…”

I shrugged as I crawled into my bed, but Fuma didn’t give up, pushing the notepad at me pointedly, and I sighed silently as I took it, starting to write. Fuma got up from his bed to move over to mine, slipping under the covers with me and looking over my shoulder to read.

_When my mother heard that I lost my voice, she blamed it on work and wanted me to step back. It made me mad because she knew that I couldn’t even protest, and she just kept talking, so I kind of stormed off angrily._

Fuma sighed, chewing at his lower lip thoughtfully before admitting: “I can see both sides, yours and hers. To be honest, I would be furious if my parents told me what to do with my career. I hate it when people want to manipulate my decisions, and I know that you do, too. But I can see why she is worried. To her, the thing that makes you suffer is your work as an idol, and to a certain degree, she is even right with that.”

I angrily started writing, but Fuma was continuing before I could even finish the sentence. 

“I _know_ you love your job, Kento, but even I wished that you would watch out for yourself better. You had 2 singles, other band stuff, university, variety shows, Johnnys’ World, drama promotion, all in the matter of a couple of months. It seemed to me like you were burying yourself under work because you were not content with the situation our band was in, and it really worried me. I was-”

He only held in when I flinched visibly, another blinding headache flashing through my brain so suddenly that it made me dizzy. Fuma’s voice sounded almost from far away as he spoke, and I had to concentrate to catch it.

“Your head again?” he murmured, and this time he did reach out to me, running two fingers over my temple in soft circles. “Are you okay?”

I shrugged because I honestly didn’t know. The pain was sickening, and I let myself be pulled against Fuma’s side, letting out a shaky breath when his fingers sifted through my hair in a gentle caress and started to massage my scalp.

“Okay, let’s talk about something else” Fuma said quietly. “Where do you want to go tomorrow? I know you were talking about the Eiffel Tower, but maybe we could do that when it’s dark because cities always look more beautiful by night time, don’t you think? So we could go there in the evening, and maybe, and for the first part of the day go to the Latin Quarter? It seems to be medieval district of the city… And there is Notre-Dame closeby.”

As Fuma continued talking, the headache slowly faded, and I relaxed against him. When Fuma held in to watch my face, I nodded tiredly, agreeing to all of his plans, and he rubbed my neck in acknowledgement.

“Do you want to sleep?” he asked softly, not making any move to get up until I nodded, but quickly freezing when I fisted his shirt to keep him close. I looked at him pleadingly, and it seemed like I didn’t need words for Fuma to understand what I wanted. He just stretched wordlessly to cut the light on the bedside table and rolled onto his side to face me, allowing me to curl up against him for the night. 

***

We did keep ourselves busy with sightseeing for the first part of the next day, and mostly with Fuma’s quest to take as many photos as possible to prove to Marius that we were actually not hanging in that pretty Starbucks day after day. 

We started at the Cathedral Notre Dame, which I mostly knew through the Disney movie ‘The Hunchback of Notre Dame’ to be quite honest, but found really impressive in real life. In general, I found medieval french architecture fascinating, because it was so different from anything I was used to from Japan and my occasional trips within Asia or to America, and maybe Fuma was lucky that I couldn’t talk because I would have gone on and on about it for hours. As it was, I was restricted to excited pointing, which must have looked strange to everyone around us, but for once, we were just stupid tourists instead of idols that were constantly being watched, so I didn’t even care. 

The Latin Quarter was indeed the historical part of the city, consisting of a web of tiny streets with book shops, restaurants and all kind of souvenir shops. We soon were completely lost somewhere in its depths, but I couldn’t have cared less, really, because I enjoyed myself too much strolling through the streets and doing window shopping. I ended up buying the English version Nicholas Sparks’ “A Walk To Remember” in a lovely messy canadian store called “The Abbey Bookshop”, making Fuma bite his lips _hard_ to keep a straight face. We also got souvenirs for our band mates, a Paris bag for Marius, a wallet with an Eiffel Tower key chain for Sou, and, after hours of agonizing over what to bring for Shori (Fuma at some point suggested either stealing a car or smuggling a pigeon), we found a nice watch with an gem stoned Eiffel Tower for him, too. I also bought a beautiful silver bracelet for my mother, hoping it would be enough of an apology when I finally returned home. 

We had lunch at the Rue de la Huchette, in a restaurant called “La Procope”, a revolutionary café that told its own history through paintings on the walls and served authentic french dishes, and when Fuma finally managed to drag me out of that part of the city, it was already way past noon. 

We strolled a little along the Seine (Fuma pointedly keeping me away from all the little book stands) before getting into a train that brought us to the Eiffel Tower. 

The sun had already started setting when we arrived, and the tower was beautifully lightened, causing us to take countless of pics (which became progressively more ridiculous as we tried to fit us onto them as well until some American tourists had mercy with us and offered to take a shot of us in front of it) before actually making an effort to get up there. 

It was a Friday night, so we needed to queue a little before we could get into the lift and onto the panorama platform at the 2nd floor. It was worth it, though, the view of Paris from above at nightfall completely stunning, with all the lights decorating the city in a most fascinating way.

Fuma and I admired it in silence for a while, until Fuma murmured, very quietly: “I am really happy that I came here with you. I know it was a coincidence, more or less, and that the circumstances leading up to it weren’t positive at all… But I am glad to be here.”

I looked up at Fuma, my eyes traveling over his profile, hanging on the curves of his cheekbones when he finally turned to meet my gaze. 

The moment felt eternal, electric, like everything they had tried to capture in the movies and books, only better, and I couldn’t have helped myself even if I had tried. It was the freaking Eiffel Tower, in Paris, the City of Love, and if now wasn’t the right moment, then it would probably never come. 

Fuma’s lips were dry and cracked from the cold weather, and he was slow in responding, as if his mind needed time to catch up with what was happening, but I didn’t let it discourage me because it still felt _amazing_. Kissing Fuma had always been a desire I had kept buried deep inside, along with all other feelings for him that I had been afraid to look at more closely, but being here with him like this, I couldn’t fight them any longer.

When I pulled away, Fuma was staring at me with wide eyes, as if he still didn’t quite understand what had just happened, and to my utter dismay, he averted his gaze, looking back out onto the city in front of us. 

“Don’t do that” Fuma brought out breathlessly. “That’s dangerous.”

I stared at him, regarding his words, trying to understand them, turning and twisting them in my mind, until finally, the rejection of them sank in, spreading through my veins and bringing forward pain and humiliation, and the desperate need to get away. 

I saw people getting into the lift to make their way downwards, and before I had even consciously decided on it, I was already hurrying towards them. I faintly heard Fuma calling after me, but before I could turn around to look at him, the elevator doors had already closed behind me.

The night was cold and uncomfortable as I aimlessly wandered through the busy streets, my emotions a chaos, clouding my brain and making me unable to think. I wanted to scream, but still, my voice wouldn’t allow me to produce a single sound. 

I let myself fall onto a step as the tears blurred my view, allowing myself to cry into my scarf. The one Fuma had chosen for me only yesterday, and the thought stung painfully.

It was not like I hadn’t known that I would be rejected by Fuma should I ever make a move on him. I had warned myself countless of times, had forced myself to stay quiet… I had known that Fuma wouldn’t return my feelings, that I wouldn’t be good enough for him. And still, I had let myself been swept away by the magic of the foreign city and everything he had done for me in the past few days…

“I am so stupid” I wanted to sob, but no words came out, and it made me cry even harder.

***

I was not sure how long I stayed out in the streets, if it had been one hour or three, but eventually, I was so frozen and my head was pounding so hard that I was afraid that, if I didn’t get back to the hotel soon, I would actually collapse. 

I was not exactly sure where I was, though, and too tired to find my way back, so I just took the easy way out. I had grabbed a business card from the hotel reception this morning, as a precaution for the case of Fuma and me getting separated again, and it didn’t take me long to find a taxi. I just gave the driver the card, and he didn’t ask many questions, probably assuming correctly that I didn’t speak the language anyways (and maybe my red puffy eyes were a reason for him to keep quiet, too). 

Getting back to my shared hotel room with Fuma wasn’t exactly tempting, but I knew that I had no other choice. All my stuff was back there, and I could hardly ask for other available rooms without a voice. 

The drive back to the hotel didn’t take more than 15 minutes, and it was not nearly enough time to get myself together, but I realized that it was no use anyways. Fuma would be able to tell that I had been crying from a thousand miles distance. 

I realized that I didn’t even have the keycard to our room with me as I walked up the stairs, since Fuma had been the one to lock the room this morning, and for a moment, I wondered if he would even be back already. But when I tentatively turned the door handle, the door opened easily, announcing that he was definitely in the room.

I took a shaky breath before finally stepping inside. Fuma was sitting on his bed, hugging his own knees to his chest as he looked up at me, his eyes suspiciously red. I quickly averted my gaze, but Fuma was already moving, jumping up from the bed and crossing the room towards me in quick steps. 

“ _Where were you all this time?!”_ he demanded, his voice raspy. “I have been out of my mind in worry! I told you not to disappear on me! What were you thinking, running away like that?!”

I pressed my eyes shut quickly, feeling them sting again as an announcement of new tears, but then, I found myself tightly enveloped in strong arms. 

“Hear me out before jumping to conclusions, you idiot!” Fuma breathed. “I hadn’t even realized how I’d sounded until you were suddenly running! I didn’t mean to reject you! I was embarrassed, that was all! There were people around, and I forgot for a moment that we were not in Japan, that no one knows us here… I am sorry. I really didn’t think about how what I said sounded.”

His words didn’t quite register in my mind as more tears escaped my eyes, and Fuma held onto me more tightly. 

“Why do you think I am doing all of this?!” he whispered, his voice shaky, almost fragile. “Getting away with you like that, sharing a bed with you and buying you rings… Do you still not understand how much you mean to me?”

Everything was too much: The emotions pressing down on my chest, making it hard to breathe, the tears blurring my sight, the headache laming my brain, and even though I heard Fuma’s words, they hardly registered with me. Fuma seemed to notice, because he pulled away to look at me, cupping my face with both hands when I couldn’t meet his eyes. 

“I love you, Kento” Fuma pressed, and now there was an obvious tremor in his voice, cutting through all his usual confidence. “And I wished I had told you that sooner, wished I had approached you sooner because maybe then it wouldn’t have even needed to come that far. Do you know what it felt like when Marius called me and told me that you were in the hospital because you couldn’t speak?! I can’t remember having ever been so scared! Our voices have always connected us, and the thought that this would be taken away from me… I can’t stand this. And I am not going to give up until you can sing with me again. Do you understand me?!”

I didn’t understand, not really, but then Fuma was kissing me, and it didn’t matter. My body was better at dealing with the situation than my head, clinging to Fuma and kissing him desperately. 

The sensations of it were numbed by the sickening headache, though, and I hardly registered Fuma pulling away and calling my name before everything went dark.

***

When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in bed, and Fuma was was touching my face, stroking my hair back and pressing a wet towel to my forehead. 

“Kento?” he murmured frantically. “Can you hear me?”

I nodded, realizing that Fuma’s hands were shaking.

“You suddenly fainted” he whispered, looking closer to tears than I had seen him in a while, and it made me feel bad. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to make this so straining for you! You are supposed to be resting, and I-”

My fingers found his wrist, squeezing, and it made him hold in. My head was still pounding, but not as badly as before, and it made it possible to think on a simplistic level. I pulled at Fuma’s shirt, and he caught on, climbing into bed with me, immediately throwing his arms around me when I turned into him. 

It was easy, to close my eyes like that, and find sleep in a matter of seconds. 

***

When I woke up the next morning, my head was lying safely on Fuma’s shoulder. He was already awake, scrolling through something on his phone, but looking at me when I stirred.

“Good morning” he said softly, dropping his phone immediately and reaching out to stroke through my hair. “Are you feeling better?” 

I nodded, smiling because the headache was gone and so was the pain and confusion of last night, but even though Fuma tried to return the smile, it didn’t reach his eyes. 

So I turned my chin upwards, and Fuma got the message, meeting me halfway for a gentle kiss, reassuring for both of us. Fuma was keeping me close as I tried to pull away, pecking the corner of my lips, the bridge of my nose, my forehead, and it made me feel slightly giddy. 

“I am sorry for last night” Fuma whispered. “Really sorry. I wanted to make you feel better, not cause you any more pain. I really fucked that up.”

I shook my head, not liking the guilt in his voice, and Fuma hugged me tightly. 

“I love you so much” he whispered, and his words seemed to glow in my chest. “I want to treasure you properly from now on. Please let me.”

I nodded, holding onto him in response, turning my face to kiss his jaw until the tension drained from his body, and he met my lips again in another soft kiss. 

I settled back into his embrace after that, and we stayed like this for a while, until Fuma’s phone buzzed. He still ignored it, murmuring instead: “We missed breakfast. We will need to go out to get something to eat later.”

I nodded, not feeling particularly hungry yet, and Fuma didn’t seem to find it urgent either. He picked up his phone when it buzzed again, glancing at it and sighing.

“Seems like our band mates are having a slumber party at Mari’s house tonight” he informed me. “I sent them some of yesterday's photos, but they still keep pestering me. They are asking me how you are doing, and I dodged the question because I didn’t know what to answer.”

I squeezed my arm around his waist for a moment in apology, and Fuma sighed, looking at me contemplatively. 

“If you don’t want to, just tell me, but would it maybe be okay to video call them for a few minutes? The wifi connection at this hotel is pretty good, I am sure we can get a connection with Skype, and maybe if they see your face, they will stop writing to me every couple of hours.”

I looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, before finally shrugging and nodding. It’s not like I could really contribute much to a conversation, but Fuma didn’t seem to care about that as he logged himself into Skype, and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror across the room, pleased to find that I didn’t actually look _that_ disheveled despite the stress of the last night. 

Fuma pulled me back into his side then, holding the phone up in the air to make sure the camera could capture both of us as he pressed “Call”. 

It didn’t take long for Marius to take the call on his laptop, and the “KENTO-KUN! FUMA-KUN!” he called into the speaker was so loud that Fuma and I flinched a little. We could see them all lounging on Marius’ bed, Sou and Shori having frozen in their fight for the popcorn to stare at the screen and Marius adjusting the laptop so all of them could see. 

“Kento-Kun, are you okay?!” Sou called, shoving the popcorn back at Shori and crawling closer to the screen, and Marius added: “Yes, are you feeling better?! Can you talk again?! Say something!”

I made a face at their flood of questions, and Fuma quickly jumped in to my aid. 

“He can’t speak yet” he explained. “So stop asking questions he can’t answer, you brats, and let him breathe!”

“Why can he still not speak?” Marius asked, looking crestfallen. “Wasn’t it supposed to get better?” 

Fuma’s hand was searching my hand where he had thrown his arm around me, out of the camera’s focus, lacing our fingers together before continuing: “It’s not that easy, Marius. Such things need time.”

I mouthed a “Sorry” into the camera, but Sou quickly shook his head, announcing: “Don’t apologize! Take as much time as you need! We just want Kento-Kun to come back to us healthily, and it doesn’t matter how long it takes!”

Sou’s words made me smile, and I chuckled silently as Shori added, with full mouth: “Exactly, no pressure. We won’t go anywhere.”

“So how is Paris, Kento-Kun?” Marius asked, smiling enthusiastically. “Isn’t it amazing?! Have you been to the Eiffel Tower yet?! Or Versailles?! Or-”

“Let him answer, Mari!” Shori scolded with a smile, and with some vague hand-gestures and Fuma’s translation, we managed to establish at least a little of conversation. It was nice to see our younger band mates again, and made me miss our band’s activities a lot. The whole band, not just Fuma, Shori and me, and my head pounded again at the thought, but I had no time to ponder over it because Fuma was still talking to the others and I had to focus to catch on. 

“Alright” Fuma nodded, stretching a little and adjusting the arm with which he was holding the phone, the position apparently straining after such a long time. “We need to get out of bed and search food, I am getting hungry.” 

I frowned a little when all three of them suddenly grinned at Fuma’s words, not quite catching onto that joke, and as Marius and Sou exchanged meaningful glances Shori noted casually: “Isn’t it past noon at yours already?”

“We had a long night” Fuma shrugged, and Shori murmured: “I can see that.”

When both of us frowned at them in confusion, Marius noted, very smugly: “Your hands.”

It was then, that we realized that Fuma had changed the camera angle so much that it filmed our entwined fingers, and Fuma hastily focused back on our faces, both of us flushing.

“So nice” Sou sighed approvingly, and Fuma cleared his throat pointedly. 

“Don’t you have some movies to watch?!” he demanded. “Go corrupt Marius with zombies or something, will you?!”

“It’s actually aliens” Shori corrected with a full mouth, waving as Sou and Marius called out their goodbyes, and finally, Fuma ended the call.

“Well, that wasn’t embarrassing” he groaned, and I squeezed his hand in a silent laugh. “Damned kids.”

***

It still took another hour until we were ready to leave the room, piloting straight towards the first bakery we could find. Both of us were way happier with a baguette topped with cheese and a coffee-to-go, and we found our way towards the Seine, strolling aimlessly along the sidewalks along the river.

The weather was actually nice today, still cold but pretty sunny, the sun shining into my face and keeping me from freezing too much. Fuma took my hand when we were done with eating, apparently past caring who could be watching us, and it was comfortable, walking like this in silence, Fuma occasionally pointing something out to me in a quiet voice. 

We held in at some point, leaning against the fence and watching the water, and I smiled when Fuma’s hands came to rest on both sides of me on the metal bar, backing me up against it as he rested his chin on my shoulder, and I leaned back a little against his chest. 

It fascinated me how affectionate Fuma was now that we had come clean with our feelings, as if his usual embarrassment had completely disappeared beneath his desire to be close to me, and it was like the physical contact enveloped me like a shield, the love it indicated filling me from the inside. 

Fuma turned his face to softly kiss my neck, and I closed my eyes, letting him splatter soft kisses up to my cheek and along my jaw. When he reached the corner of my lips, I squirmed in his arms, turning to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck and letting him connect our lips. 

Fuma kissed me deeply, leisurely, and I found myself completely lost in it, forgetting that we were in public, and everything else that did not have to do with Fuma and what he made me feel. 

I don’t know how long it took until he pulled away, resting his chin back on my shoulder and enveloping me in a tight hug, and I closed my eyes, just enjoying being held by him like this. 

“Kento” he finally spoke up, pulling away a little to look into my face. “Let’s have a date tonight. I read that there were dinner cruises going along the Seine.”

I rose my eyebrows at him pointedly, and he chuckled as he rolled his eyes. 

“Oh come on, I _can_ be romantic if I want to! Shall I remind you who won that renai test in Sekuchan?!” 

I stuck out my tongue in response, and Fuma returned the gesture like the 5-year-old he was. 

“Let me spoil you like I know you want me to” he teased, kissing the tip of my nose. “I didn’t exactly expect to have to force you to go on a date with me.”

I laughed quietly before finally nodding in agreement to his plans. Fuma seemed extremely satisfied with himself as he pulled me into another kiss. 

***

We got back to the hotel to get into nice clothes (Fuma had to lend me black pants because I had not taken anything but jeans, not having counted on needing to dress up) and Fuma asked the receptionist to help us call at the event company offering the cruises to reserve a table. 

The evening on the ship was nothing if not magical. Having a candle high class candle light dinner while being able to look out over Paris at night was something close to a dream, and the way Fuma took my hand and played with my fingers as he talked, brushed our knees together under the table for contract or shared his food made me feel so ridiculously in love that it was almost surreal. 

We also made good news of that notepad for the first time on this trip, establishing a proper conversation with me writing and Fuma talking, and though I had expected it to be straining and slightly stressful to have to write down your answers, Fuma was patient, watching me with a smile as I scribbled down the words, and somehow, it was comfortable like this. 

Fuma was still holding my hand as we made our way back home, and somehow, it made me wish that we never had to go back to Tokyo again; that we could just stay here in this bewitching city where nobody knew us and be together. I knew that it was silly and that it ultimately just meant running away from my problems, but it felt a little as if as soon as we returned home, the spell would fade and everything would go back to the way it was before.

It was that thought that made me pull Fuma into a passionate kiss, trying to transfer all my feelings through my touch because I could not articulate them, and it seemed like Fuma understood a little of it at least because he kissed me back just as deeply, holding me to his chest protectively, and it was the best feeling ever.

We kept kissing when we finally reached our room again, and Fuma let me push him onto his bed, holding onto my hips as I settled into his lap, straddling him and knotting my fingers in his hair to keep our mouths connected. 

It was Fuma who started unbuttoning my shirt, letting his palm run along the skin he revealed, and it made me shiver, the touch feeling electrified as it wandered over my chest. Fuma’s hand explored me, featherlight caresses as he mapped out all curves and dips, collarbones, belly button, nipples. I needed to break our kiss to breathe when he prodded one, throwing my head back at the pleasure flashing through me, and Fuma kissed down my throat, nipping at my Adam’s Apple. 

“Is it okay to touch you?” Fuma whispered, his breath ghosting over the wet trail he had left on my skin, and I shuddered as I nodded hastily, feeling him hook one arm around my waist in response while the other trailed down my chest and my stomach until it found the zipper of my pants. 

Fuma took his time, opening my pants and reaching inside, rubbing me through my underwear, and it was almost frustrating that I couldn’t moan as an outlet to these sensations. 

I felt Fuma’s eyes on me when his fingers slipped into my underwear, touching me directly, so I forced mine open to meet his gaze, a full body shudder racking through me when I realized how dark and intense his stare was. 

I was confused when his touch suddenly ceased, but it was only for a moment because then I found myself pushed off Fuma’s lap and flat onto the mattress. Fuma made quick work of my pants and underwear, pulling them off and throwing them onto the floor, and I felt a little exposed, spread out in front of Fuma in only an open shirt while Fuma was still fully dressed, but the heat in Fuma’s stare made up for it. 

He was looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered to him, and that alone made me feel so turned on that I couldn’t think straight anymore. 

Fuma traced a path down my chest with his fingertips before leaning down and kissing it, tasting my skin, and squirmed to watch him, entirely mesmerized by his lips on my skin. His tongue dipped into my belly button, and my breath got stuck in my throat as he licked past it, wrapping his hands around my shaft again. 

He caught my eyes again, smiling, obviously happy to hold my attention like this, and then he moved down the last bit to lick over the head of my erection. If I had had a voice, I was pretty sure I would have called out at the sensation, but as it was, I could only scramble at the sheets underneath me while his lips closed around me, taking me in deeper. 

Fuma’s lips were soft, the inside of his mouth hot and his tongue skillful, and every up and down movement, every contact his tongue made, every intentional hollowing of his cheeks brought me closer to the edge, made me lose it a tiny bit more. 

Fuma’s eyes met mine every once in a while, making sure that I was still watching him, and it was one of these gazes that made me go over the edge, at last, my lips opened around a silent moan as I let go. 

Fuma sucked me through it, swallowing everything and licking me clean until I was twitching from hypersensitivity, and when he finally pulled away, he sat up to watch me desperately catching my breath. 

“You look so good like this” Fuma whispered, his voice rough. “I always wanted to do this to you.”

He emphasized his words with a desperate kiss, allowing me to taste myself on his tongue, and my trembling fingers flew to open the buttons of his shirt. Fuma helped me (probably to ensure I wouldn’t tear anything in my impatience), shrugging out of it quickly and efficiently getting rid of his lower garments next, and my eyes were hanging on his body, taking in his muscular chest that I had always wanted to feel under my fingers, his wide shoulders, and his straining erection. 

Fuma seemed more even more impatient for me to get my hands on him, his fingers closing around my wrist to physically lead me to where he wanted my touch. 

I could do nothing but stare, entirely overwhelmed by the way Fuma brushed my hand over his chest, hissing when it brushed his nipple, making me draw circles around it until he threw his head back at the sensation. 

His free hand blindly found my other wrist, pulling, and I understood what he wanted immediately. When my fingers closed around his shaft, he moaned, and it sounded even better than any tone I had ever heard him sing. 

He let go of my hands, instead cupping my cheeks and crushing our lips together, holding himself steady above me on his elbows, whimpering into the kiss as I twisted his nipple between my thumb and pointer finger. 

Fuma was as responsive as I would have been had my voice cooperated, the sweetest noises mixing with his ragged breathing and our kiss, and he moved his hips into my touch as I stroked him. 

Fuma was so worked up that it didn’t take long for him to come undone under my touch, and with a gasp of my name he spilled over my fingers and my stomach. He was trembling and twitching when he collapsed on top of me, letting me wrap my arms around him to hold him tightly as he fought to regain his bearings. and I wasn’t sure what felt better, in the end, losing it under Fuma’s fingers or Fuma losing it under mine. I was almost inclined to vote for the latter. 

Fuma kept shivering against me as I ran my palm up and down his back in calming circles, pressing his face against my neck as if that would make it easier to breathe.

When he finally pushed himself up a little too look at me, his breathing had almost returned to normal, and his eyes were taking in my face, my hair dishevelled and clinging to my forehead, before traveling down my body to the mess on both of our stomachs.

“We should shower” he noted, obviously the most pressing matter to him right now, and my chest trembled in silent laughter at Fuma’s dislike for being sticky and dirty. 

He seemed much happier after we had taken an (unnecessarily long) shower, sighing as he cuddled under the covers of my bed with me, kissing my temple.

“We should have done this way sooner” he whispered, burying his nose in my still wet hair and inhaling the scent of my shampoo. I nodded, my eyes falling closed on their own accord, suddenly feeling sleepy with the sound of Fuma’s pulse in my ear with the way my head rested on his chest. 

Fuma was still whispering things, affectionate nothingness that made me smile tiredly, but soon, I had drifted away completely in his arms. 

***

The rest of our week in Paris went by almost dizzyingly fast. We went to Versailles, Avenue des Champs-Élysées and Arc de Triomphe, and to Avenue Montaigne for some more shopping. The days felt like one long, amazing date, and the closer our departure back home came, the less willing I became to leave.

I think Fuma noticed because he mentioned Tokyo more often, talking about our band mates and how we should all go out together once we were back and I knew that it was probably meant to make me anticipate our return, but instead, it just gave me headaches again. 

I was reluctant to pack on the last night, my movements almost lethargic, and Fuma sighed as he watched me.

“You know that nothing between us will change when we go back to Tokyo?” Fuma said indignantly. “My feelings for you won’t change no matter where we are. It’s not like we’re just a holiday fling or something.”

I nodded quickly, but Fuma still didn’t seem satisfied.

“You don’t need to feel pressured about your voice either” he continued. “It will come back with time, I am sure. So please stop making that face already, it hurts me to watch.”

I made an effort to smile at Fuma, but he kept frowning, clearly not pleased. 

I slept almost throughout the complete flight home, Fuma letting me rest against his shoulder, and ironically enough it was pouring and cold when we arrived in Tokyo.

Fuma kept a safety distance from me as we made our way through the airport, passing passport control and collecting our luggage, but I caught him sneaking worried glances at me every now and then, and it made me feel guilty. 

When we stepped out onto the arrival area, Fuma looked around furtively, and I frowned at him until he seemed to find what he was looking for, breaking out into a wide smile and waving.

I followed his gaze until my eyes landed on a group of familiar faces: Shori, Sou, Marius and his older sister Marilena. 

Marius and Sou were all over me the moment they reached me, Marius wrapping me up in a choking hug and Sou taking my luggage out of my hand as if I was an invalid. 

“We missed you!” Marius informed me, clinging more tightly, and only letting go when Marilena advised him not to choke me. 

“Nobody missed me?!” Fuma demanded dramatically, but he merely got a sympathetic pat on the shoulder from Shori. I had to smile when Sou asked me excitedly how our holiday had been, and Marius linked arms with me as if determined to not let go of me, not having realized how much I had missed these kids until this very moment. 

They had apparently come with the Schmich-Yo family car which was big enough to fit us all inside, and Shori said in the front to chat with Marilena while she drove, glancing back every now and then to look at us in the back rows, Marius next to me and Sou and Fuma behind us. 

Marius kept throwing questions about Paris at me, which I answered mostly with flailing gestures that he automatically returned, making Shori point out that we looked like two middle school girls with a crush. 

“By the way, we have good news” Sou announced brightly, making me turn to look at him curiously, and Marius nodded enthusiastically next to me. “We had a talk with the management earlier today.”

“You did?” Fuma asked in confusion, apparently as surprised at me, and Shori turned halfway to participate in the conversation. 

“They wanted to ask for our opinions regarding the current situation of the band” Shori explained. “”Johnny-San himself called us in after reading Fuma-Kun’s email explaining that all the 3nin projects are a huge factor in Kento-Kun’s condition, and he was present the whole time.”

I turned to Fuma with wide eyes that were supposed to means as much as ‘YOU DID WHAT?!’, but Fuma avoided my gaze, looking half guilty, half indignant. 

“So we told them that we wanted to work together again, that we had enough of being separated” Sou announced, and Marius found my hand, squeezing it. “And Johnny-San promised us that, as soon as Kento-Kun was back in full health, we would have a 5nin release! Isn’t that great?!”

“Are you serious?!” Fuma demanded, but I barely heard him because my head was spinning. Flashes and voices clouded my mind, making my head pound and my eyes sting, so I pressed them closed. 

I only opened them when I heard Marius calling my name, and felt Fuma’s fingers in my hair, his touch gently bringing me back to reality. Tears were streaming down my face, and I touched my wet cheeks in confusion. 

“Kento, what’s wrong?” Fuma asked quietly. 

“I remember now” I whispered,gasping along with everyone else as my voice actually carried the words. “Oh my god!”

“Kento-Kun!” Marius called, squeezing my hand, and I felt Sou’s fingers squeezing my shoulder.

“What do you remember?” Fuma prodded, his hand cupping my cheek and turning my head to face him with soft pressure. Only when our eyes met, I could find the focus to speak. 

“Before I went on stage that day” I said softly, my voice rough, maybe from the lack of usage for the last week. “I was talking to the manager about schedules and… he was mentioning plans of our next release, and I asked him if it was supposed to be 5nin or 3nin. He said probably 3nin, and when I was about to protest, he told me there was no time for this now, that I had to go on stage. I don’t know why I forgot…” I added weakly, and Fuma traced my cheekbone with his thumb. 

“Your mind probably suppressed the memory along with your voice” Fuma sighed, smiling tiredly. “But it’s okay now, Kento. It’s over.”

The words sank in slowly, and I realized that it was true. 

It was over.

***

Everyone still treated me a little like I was going to break for the following weeks, my parents, our younger members, and even the management. It was slightly irritating, but the fact that our band was allowed to reunite made up for it a hundred times. 

“We are just worried about you” Fuma reminded me more than once, and I was thankful for everyone’s affection, even though all the attention made me a little uncomfortable. 

It were these moments when Fuma withdrew himself with me somewhere for a break, and it was like recharging to me, Fuma’s presence and calmness giving me the energy I needed. 

“Marius suggested for us to all go have dinner later tonight” Fuma noted in one of these moment, slumped against on the piano bench in the rehearsal room, arm thrown around my waist and head resting on my shoulder as he watched me play a random melody. “What do you think?”

“Sounds good” I smiled, leaning my cheek against his hair. 

Fuma was silent for a moment, eyes following my fingers attentively before asking, very quietly: “... Can you sing?”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing at the request, something that I heard from Fuma several times a week lately. I knew that I couldn’t blame him. The events had left almost as many marks on him as on me, and though he tried his best to hide them most of the time, I could find traces of them in simple behaviors: occasional uncharacteristical clinginess, thoughtful gestures that took me off guard, and an urge to hear my voice, if through sudden calls shortly before going to sleep, or masked as music, like now. 

Instead of commenting on it, though, I changed the melody I was playing to “Love Kaze”, and Fuma closed his eyes as I started to sing. 


End file.
